Jayden looked up. A woman stood beside her table—mid-thirties, athletic build, honey-brown hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. She wore hiking clothes that looked expensive and well used, and her smile was open and friendly in a way that immediately put Jayden on alert.
“Sorry?”
“You and your husband.” The woman gestured vaguely toward the cottages. “I saw him carrying you in yesterday. So sweet. Real romance-novel stuff.” She laughed. “I’m Riley, by the way. Riley Stewart.”
Riley.
Gender-neutral name.
Jayden’s pulse kicked up a notch, but she kept her expression warm. “Jayden Pierce. And that was less romantic than it looked—allergic reaction. He was playing nurse.”
“Still.” Riley slid into the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “He looked genuinely worried.”
“He’s . . .” Jayden searched for the right word. “Attentive.”
“Lucky girl.” Riley flagged down a server and ordered coffee with the easy confidence of someone used to getting what she wanted. “I’m traveling solo. Gets lonely sometimes, watching all the couples.”
Traveling solo. Another red flag?
“What brings you to wine country?” Jayden asked, keeping her voice casual.
“Oh, you know. Needed a break. Work’s been crazy.” Riley accepted her coffee with a grateful smile. “I’m in corporate consulting. Travel constantly. Sometimes you just need to stop and smell the grapes, you know?”
Corporate consulting. Vague enough to mean anything. The kind of cover story that could explain any schedule, any destination, any sudden departure.
Jayden filed it away. “How long have you been on the tour?”
“I just joined. Missed the reef, unfortunately—flight delays.” Riley sipped her coffee. “But I’ve heard the Sydney leg is the real highlight. The Opera House tour is supposed to be incredible.”
The Opera House.
Jayden’s smile didn’t waver. “I’ve heard the same.”
Riley opened her mouth to say something else, but her gaze shifted to something over Jayden’s shoulder. Her smile widened.
“Speaking of husbands . . .”
Jayden turned.
And her brain simply . . . stopped.
Dakota stood in the restaurant doorway, scanning the room for her. He’d showered—his hair was still damp, pushed back from his forehead. He wore a fitted charcoal Henley that did criminal things to his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal tanned forearms. Morning stubble darkened his jaw. His eyes found hers across the room, and something in his expression eased—relief, maybe, that she was okay. That she was still here.
He smiled.
Jayden forgot how to breathe.
This is dangerous, some distant part of her brain warned. This is exactly how operatives get killed.
She’d been trained to compartmentalize. To observe without feeling, to analyze without attachment. She’d spent years building walls, learning to see people as assets or threats or irrelevant bystanders.
Dakota Rivers was none of those things. He was just . . . him. Walking toward her through golden morning light, looking at her as if she were the only person in the room.
Oh my.
“Morning.” He reached her table and bent to press a kiss to her temple—casual, affectionate, the kind of thing a husband would do. His lips were warm against her skin. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” Her voice came out steadier than she expected. “Dakota, this is Riley Stewart. She just joined the tour.”
